


The Fall

by whisperingink



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, spoilers for 3/28 upd8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingink/pseuds/whisperingink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Equius could see her now. A proper blue blood, violent and overbearing, with no moirail to pacify her. No moirail. No matesprit. No kismesis.</p><p>Vriska has no one now. She's not sure she ever did to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall

He follows her down after the fall and Vriska doesn't want to admit, it but that hurts. That action hurts her more than her broken horn does.  _Heh_. If only Equius could see her now. A proper blue blood, violent and overbearing, with no moirail to pacify her. Yeah. No moirail. No matesprit. No kismesis.

Vriska has no one now. She's not sure she ever did to begin with.

She could've lived with Sollux, Feferi, Nepeta leaving...and while Tavros abandoning stung her, that mostly angered her. She really did need him and he left. Took the easy way out. And, at this point, she doesn't even know if Tavros was ever truly red for her. Not red like she wanted. She can still remember the first time she kissed him, how he flailed and pathetically fell to the floor, shakily reaching back up for her. And she never did figure out where she wanted him in her life. Not red, not black. Something inbetween would have suited him, a pitifully affectionate figure she wanted to despise. But that doesn't matter now. He abandoned her. Stupid poopmaster.  

Vriska tries to raise her head to the dark sky and feels something drain out of her. At that moment, she can feel her side losing. Her pitiful half-life existence will amount to nothing in the end. All of the hurt she caused, everyone she killed...all for nothing. And she will never get to be alive again which makes her so fucking mad because...she did miss it. Being alive. Not even the existing part, just some kind of promise that life held. Like meeting John in the right timeline. Where he remembered everything. When he might have wanted to bring her back to life 

Meenah and Aranea are still above, she can hear them talking about her like she's some pitiful wriggler, less than three sweeps old. Her ancestor seems like the kind of girl a boy could love. She's not good, but she's nice. She's stupidly nice, even when violating minds, making her no better than Vriska. No, she is better. Because she's _nice_. Now, Vriska can hear the soft scuff of yellow shoes on rocky ground and grows cold, sitting facing away from him. It's easy to grow cold when you're dead, she's come to realize. 

John walks like some pitiful barkbeast with socks on its paws, unsure of his footing and wary of a creature that had at some point seemed so powerful and great to him. Barkbeasts would never approach her on Alternia because they had an instinct to stay away from poisonous things. It seems like John has the same instinct. It makes her wish she'd never trolled him all those sweeps ago. Was it sweeps? She can't even remember at this point. Vriska won't look at him. Because, seriously, fuck that guy. Fuck him for pretending he ever understood.

Still, she can't even help but think that, even though there's destruction raining down around them, and their world is crumbling, splintering beneath their feet...John is sitting next to her. He hasn't left, but he won't look at her either. She's not sure that he can, after everything. 

"...I'm sorry," he whispers, but she can tell he's not sure he means it because he's come to realize that the bad things she did weren't just 'troll culture.' Though, maybe, just maybe, he already knew, because there's no way Karkat would have given him the impression that what she'd done was okay. Maybe he wanted to believe she was a nice girl at heart. Because that's what good human boys want, right? A nice girl? Vriska can only shake her head at this point. Maybe after everything, if they both still exist in some way, she can try to explain herself in full, make him understand every corner of her mind. But right now there is no time. He will have to wait. 

 _Yeah, he'll have to wait_ , she repeats to herself as she feels his warm hand, his fragile, even when God Tier, human hand, wrap around hers and squeeze in what she supposes is meant to be a comforting act. Even though she knows better, Vriska allows herself the indulgence of his unwarranted kindness, unexpected after his tactlessness. His hand was smooth when she met him at his house. Now it's roughened. But still human.

_Why has he always felt so breakable to me?_

Her thumb traces over a vein in his wrist and she's taken aback when she feels a steady drum. A heartbeat in the arm. Humans sure are weird. Still, it's a comforting rhythm, and Vriska lets her thumb linger as her mind wanders. John's steady, but ragged, breathing echoes in her ears.

 _If this were another life,_ she thinks, _You could be my matesprit and we could play in your human snow and I could go on your tire swing. I could go on that dumb human date. We could see movies with that rugged human man. And you could love me. I wouldn't have to make you stay. I could sit and feel nothing but your dumb poorly designed human hand, not the breaking of the universe. If this were another life, I would always be your hero. And you would never think otherwise._

She squeezes his hand back and wonders if it hurts him. If it does, he says nothing. 

"Vriska-" he starts, the trepidation in his voice rising like the bile in her throat and the blood in her wounds. she cuts him off immediately. Enough is enough. 

"Stop acting like a wiggler and get moving," she said, yanking her hand away, "We've got a treasure to hunt." He reaches up to touch her broken horn, an expression of concern on his face that makes her feel sick, pathetic. She swats his hand away as she forces herself to her feet, looking at the burning X. 

_X marks the spot, X for the pirate, X because I'm not Mindfang but I'm close enough._

"We aren't done yet." 

She's not sure if she's referring to John or to the treasure. But, the treasure is what matters most. The treasure means winning. And winning's always what's mattered most to her. Because winning means being a hero.

 _But it's all in vain, a total lie,_ she thinks as she strides towards the fiery letter _,_  feeling her black eyes burn from the blue blood trickling into them, then down over her cheeks, _I'm the worst troll I know. I'm a bitch. I'm vindictive. I'm cruel and I laugh about it._

_Yet that still won't stop me from playing hero._

_Because you know what?_

_Nice is different than good._


End file.
